Witch Hunt
by Staffen
Summary: An Inquisitor finds herself forced to deal with a foul web of intrigue and zealotry to get to the bottom of a very unusual hunt for a Alpha-level psyker.  Short story written as a birthday gift.


Kamuael was a shining star of humanity: near non-existent rates of secular crime, blasphemy and taint made it a veritable paradise, far-disposed from any real hostile threats in the midst of the Calixis Sector; these factors also made it a planet of little concern in the eyes of the Inquisition, and so each Ordo only ever deemed it necessary to send an Inquisitor in for less-than-routine inspections once every few years. No Inquisitor was interested in even hosting a small manse on the surface, either, as there was literally nothing to be done that the local PDF and Ecclesiarchy could not overwhelmingly handle.  
That assumption very well may have been a fatal mistake.  
Indeed, the foolish inhabitants of Kamuael had become so predisposed towards the notion that they were among the purest and most righteous of the Emperor's servants that when the test of their piety came, said the newly-risen Redemption fanatics, they had not recognized the daemon for what it was; the foul spawn of the Archenemy had festered undetected; the greatest heresy to the Emperor's name had been perpetrated by the locals, who had allowed this putrid creature to fester, and so retribution would be demanded… unless the sinful repented by hunting _It_ and killing _It._  
Those responsible for bringing _It_ into the mortal realm were burned – so too were their tolerant fellows; the Kamuael Redemption named hundreds of habs and emporia soiled by _Its_ touch, and so all were set ablaze. _It_ was soon flushed from its hiding place by the fires and drowned with purity seals and sacred iconography and blessed incense to suppress _Its_ unclean powers.  
Already, however, _It_ had escaped the Redemption's grasp once, killing dozens of _Its_ captors with its summoned familiar – the few witnesses claimed to have seen _Its_ eyes blaze with hellfire upon calling _Its_ subservient warbeast from the warp. The people once again turned to extremes in their hunt to end this abomination, not yet realizing the collateral destruction they had already wrought. Thousands more suspected of harboring _It_ died across Kamuael; sightings of _It_ were reported in each hive and village. Those who had helped to push along _Its_ development were weeded out in every place _It_ was said to lurk.  
The paradise of Kamuael exploded into unprecedented havoc simply to first capture _It,_ and those who had watched during the first few days of the world's descent into madness feared how much further the people would go to recapture _It._ Something needed to be done to restore order and end the nightmare of the Kamuael Atrocity.  
Little did they realize, but that something would come in the form of a particular, newly-ordained Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus.

Crucifixes stood at each corner of the ash pile. The exact number of bodies had grown from the original four for each member of the destroyed household: occasionally, someone would step up to the crucifix which held an executed loved one, and seeing this, a staked-out Redemptionist would then have them mauled and crucified as well – just as had been ordered by Pontifex Inataeli, self-positioned leader of the Kamuael Redemption; Inataeli identified any attempt at mourning the crucified bodies as a sort of twisted confession of blasphemous dealings, what with the grieving party being associates of the departed.  
The Inquisitor shoveled out a pile of the ash with her hand, and let it sift through her fingers; a piece of charcoal remained, too large to filter. She sighed, and dropped the black lump.  
"I was hoping to at least find something here, Max," the Inquisitor said, looking up at a particular crucifix she had been eyeing since arrival: the occupant – a teenage boy – was still barely breathing. She turned her gaze away from the sight to look off at the district cathedral's far-off tower, visible over the low-lying roofs of residential structures. "I was really hoping that the Redemption here was just as inefficient at destroying evidence as it is on Scintilla, but it looks like they've been really thorough."  
She turned again, now to greet the Magos; he grinned and bowed. The Inquisitor waded through the ash towards him, wiping a hand over her short brown hair to sweep away any which had caught in it. "What have you found?" She asked, ignoring the crowd which had gathered to see this stranger who bore the blessed seal – the practicality of which she was only beginning to appreciate – and her red-robed companion.  
The Magos lifted his hand, revealing a data-slate from within his sleeve. "Most of the locals are dead-set on identifying 'It', as the Redemption Pontifices keep calling the thing, as little more than a warp-apparition." He explained, and led the Inquisitor back to the Rhino – given that the Inquisitor was still not entirely in control of her assets, they had been forced to commandeer the vehicle from an abandoned Arbites precinct – like most other agencies on the planet, the Arbites too had once held major authority on the world, but after it dawned on them that large numbers were pointless, the force size was severely cut to place resources elsewhere.  
The Magos opened the side-hatch for her, and once she had stepped inside he boarded as well, shutting the panel. "Inataeli was very determined to wipe any traces of what 'It' specifically is," his tone took a sharp edge to "It", "but I managed to dig some things up before the Redemption burned the local Administratum house. Apparently, neighbors of this household," he pointed in the direction of the burnt-out ruins, which incidentally also included another six households on the same row, "as well as the residents themselves had reported odd phenomena as far back as the last several months."  
"That's a little vague." The Inquisitor commented. "Though it matches up with all the talk of 'bad portents these past moons' I've been hearing about since I got here."  
"Indeed, but it gets interesting," the Magos continued, "about a week-and-a-half ago, one of the Administratum Adepts working here, a fellow who had apparently worked on another world where he had experience in identifying psychic talent and reporting it, sent a report to his superior on a psyker found here, and soon thereafter, his boss was broadcasting to the orbital Telepathica-station that the Black Ships, Inquisition and Adeptus Terra needed to be notified that an Alpha-level psyker had been found on the planet."  
The Inquisitor's eyes widened. "Alpha-level?"  
"Alpha." The Magos repeated. "Yes, it would seem that we are dealing with an Alpha psyker."  
The Inquisitor exhaled. "Holy Throne." She slumped back. "Do we have any idea where to even start looking?" She signaled for the Rhino's driver, an armsman from her frigate, the _Angel of War,_ to start driving.  
"The Kamuaelians are claiming that the she's highly-mobile."  
"She?"  
"Ah," the Magos's mouth formed into an "o", "I have 'Its' name: Melice d'Alia."  
"D'Alia… so, she's…"  
"Correct. She was the daughter of that family. Her sixth birthday was apparently to have been a few days ago."  
"I… see." The Inquisitor frowned. "That's… horrible."  
The Magos shrugged. "That's life," he plainly answered. "And we have a job to do."  
"Yes." The Inquisitor looked up at him again. "You're right. It's a good thing you two are with me, Max."  
Magos Maddox Lamortes smiled. "Glad to help a friend, Madame."  
Inquisitor Minna Anemlie leaned to where the driver could see her face, and then she made a signal for him to open the partition. "Back to the inn, please."

Politics and religion were, ultimately, one and the same in the Imperium– that was the reality which many Inquisitors had to bear: Cardinals ordered sermons given to justify tax increases to ensure their diocese remained stable; they increased tithes to amass glory for themselves in the form of commissioned artwork and other projects which garnered notoriety, and to push and test their Administratum counterparts when currying favor was not necessary.  
Once again, the situation on Kamuael was testament to this truth: neither Cardinal Richenier nor Governor Targhun appreciated the panic which had fallen over the populace, and both universally agreed that the Redemption was gaining too much power. When the _Angel of War_ appeared in orbit, two dispatches arrived simultaneously from the Planetary Governor's and Cardinal's offices, petitioning to speak with the Inquisitors.  
Anemlie had never been much one for those matters; instead, her partner agreed to go in her place to let her investigate.  
Being called "Lady" by haughty nobility, as though it were still a dignified title, always brought her much amusement; both Richenier and Targhun had been determined to flatter her into agreeing into the proposition which they each delivered thereafter: Pontifex Inataeli needed to die, at any cost, as the lunacy he had sparked was destroying the planet. Billions of thrones in property damage had been sustained in the private sector alone, and Richenier was feeling the pain as his flock had turned to the Redemption for their support rather than the sermons of those few preachers who had stayed true to the Ministorum. Yet the petty concerns of the Governor and Cardinal were monetary in nature alone, and thus both missed the grand scheme of things completely – the panic over a psyker, the rise of the Redemption, the ascension of a singular demagogue from among the priesthood who contradicted official teachings while being careful of invoking open retribution: these were the makings of something far sinister.  
That was a matter which would need to be solved later, however, for the primary issue was still very real, and the Lady had gained very valuable things from her conversations with the two sides of the same gold coin: testimony – dates, events, people, and places.  
Thus the Lady had left each of her appointments, issuing vague statements which each man interpreted as promise that Inataeli would be her highest priority.  
So the Lady Inquisitor, upon returning to that little inn towards the center of the township of Yarinshire, had contented herself to wait for news from her companions and read from the few volumes she had brought planetside with her.  
She did not need to wait long: hardly a few pages into the second part of the closet-play _A Comedy of Two Servants,_ a knock came at the door.  
"Come in," The Lady called in a distractedly flat tone.  
Lamortes opened the door, and peeked his head in. "My Lady. How were your visits?"  
The Lady snorted, and grinned over at him. "Don't get me started on that. They were as fine as it gets." She looked down at her page number, memorized it, and then closed the book to give her retainer her full attention. "So tell me, Max, what did you find out?"  
"The mysterious 'It' referred to in just about every sermon made by the Redemption preachers is, in fact, an Alpha-level psyker by the name of Merice d'Alia."  
As he had spoken, the Lady had begun to play with a lock of her brown hair. "D'Alia. That's the first household which was burnt down." She noted.  
"Yes, and-"  
"And judging from the fact that she's supposed to be an Alpha psyker, we can rule out her being an adult, say the matron of the family, on account of the nature of developed psychic powers…"  
"Yes, which-"  
"Which means she's young. Probably not even hit puberty yet." She looked over at Lamortes again, and grinned. "Don't interrupt me so much."  
"My apologies." The Magos chuckled. "But yes. The girl is a meager six years old."  
The Lady Inquisitor frowned. "A terrible age for this sort of thing to happen at. Imagine how she must feel." She said, then paused for a moment before realizing the absence of her partner. "Where's Minna?"  
"Madame Anemlie actually made a last-minute decision to follow up on a lead." Lamortes said. "We don't have any way of knowing where to look if we attempted to catch d'Alia, so that's our highest priority now."  
"Don't be ridiculous, Max," The Lady said, taking on a slightly bitter tone which made Lamortes raise his brow. "One thing is certain, I think. The initial reports we got from people around here are faulty."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Think – when was the last time you ever heard of a psyker running off of pure warp-power teleporting, summoning, and the likes?"  
"Why-" Lamortes frowned, unable to produce a reference point. "I can't say I can. This is a curious development."  
"You and I both know that's not how psykers work. That's sorcery. So," the Lady grunted as she sat up to tie her hair into a knot, "I think we can rule out this little girl knowing how to summon, on account of her age, which means that the teleportation trick I keep hearing about also likely has some earthly explanation."  
"But where could we find this girl then?"  
"Right here, in Yarinshire."  
"You're certain?"  
The Lady soberly nodded. "I can probably name what block she's on, too."  
"I think I'm beginning to see what you are talking about…" Lamortes commented.  
"Exactly. Think back, Max: when I was young, when I found out just what I was, how did I react?"  
"You were miserable," the Magos said, "and deeply terrified. I remember that."  
The Lady nodded. "This girl's whole world was just turned upside-down. Her family is dead, and odds are she doesn't realize that. She's wandering around, trying to find her family... and where is the first place she'd likely think to look?"  
Lamortes' eyes grew wide.  
"Exactly," The Lady stood up, dropping _A Comedy of Two Servants_ on the table beside her bed. "You were probably no more than a couple dozen meters from her, and you didn't know it. She's hiding in or near one of the nearby habs, Max. And if she's as powerful as they say she is, then she won't be able to control herself if that mob out there puts her into a panic."

The Redemption had a habit of greatly distorting common sense in people, no matter where it took hold; but if there was ever a thing which no amount of passion could undo, it was the burnt-in fear of the Inquisitorial seal.  
Thus, when Inquisitor Anemlie's patience had run thin, she forced her way into Pontifex Inataeli's personal chambers at the Yorinshire Basilica.  
The Pontifex was a terribly frail, heavily-aged man hiding his face behind the characteristic mask of a Redemptionist – his infirmity had made it possible for Anemlie to push him to the floor, scattering several skulls from the display behind his seat. Neither of his red-masked guards dared to help him, for exaggerated fear of what Anemlie might do to them.  
"Start talking," Anemlie dryly ordered, hoisting Inataeli to his feet by his collar. "How did you find out about-"  
"Heretic!" Inataeli hissed. "Blasphemer, traitor, harlot! Sinner!" He looked to his guards. "Brothers! This creature is a witch, sent to stay the work of the Emperor with her lies and violence! She must be killed!"  
Indeed, lacking her usual armor, the only thing protecting Anemlie was the stylized 'I' hanging from her neck; if the guards decided to attack her, she would have no chance – yet they did not. The Inquisitor darkly grinned.  
"That was a very dire mistake, Pontifex. You misjudge the true piety of these men." She said, lifting him entirely off the ground, letting his backside rake against the shelves behind him. "I'm going to ask again. How did you first discover the truth about Merice d'Alia?"  
The two guards exchanged worried looks.  
"The-" Inateali gagged. "Emperor… bestowed the knowledge upon my-"  
Anemlie bashed him against the shelves. "Grox shit. Try again."  
"Primary Prefect d'Narmaine, who first reported Its abilities, came to me for wisdom before he announced Its existence to the squalid astropaths."  
"And it's not common code for the Administratum to announce psyker-discoveries, isn't it?" Anemlie growled, tightening her grip. "So you told him to leak that info to the public… or did you do that yourself? Either way, you knew what could happen, and yet you let loose all the madness which has destroyed this world."  
Inataeli wheezed. "The Redemption's sacred duty," he coughed, "is to eliminate those who defy the Emperor's light. Your time will come soon enough, witch, and I will be venerated for destroying the blight here!"  
Anemlie amusedly grunted, and dropped the Pontifex. "Where is the Prefect now?"  
Inataeli rubbed at the sore skin of his neck. "He is now guiding the effort to persecute those who confess at the site where Its propagators were redeemed."  
Anemlie narrowed her eyes; she paused for a moment, before stepping back and turning away. "Thank you, Pontifex. Expect to hear from His Ordos again when this is all done with, because I think I can name several colleagues who want you burned at the stake for what you've wrought."  
As the Inquisitor walked away, Inataeli unsteadily rose to his feet and lifted a gnarled finger towards her. "You will pay for your sins, despoiler, arch-heretic! You shall be purged by the holiest flames!"  
Anemlie shut the gates to the chambers before the Pontifex rant continued.

Lamortes went to great pains in order to find the frequency which the Rhino's old vox was operating on; upon finding the information on common frequencies utilized by the Arbites, he successfully called Anemlie and summoned her back on grounds of emergency - soon, the APC came skidding to a halt outside the inn.  
Anemlie opened the hatch and allowed the Lady and the Magos to get in, shutting it again when they were all situated. She ordered the driver take them back to the ruins of the d'Alia hab, and they set out at speeds which rocked around all the occupants of the passenger compartment as the Rhino took off.  
"You found something else about the d'Alias?" The Lady asked.  
"Yeah," Anemlie nodded, "I assume Max informed you about the girl, right?"  
The Lady nodded.  
"Good. The Adept who leaked the truth about Merice is apparently working with Pontifex Inataeli. He's driving the mobs that are nailing people to the crosses over in the ruins of the d'Alias' hab. I want to see what I can get from him."  
"Me too." The Lady said; Anemlie noticed she had taken on something of an agitated edge.  
"We're certain Merice is hiding close to her home, in one of the nearby buildings." Lamortes explained. "It looks like the Redemption has been exaggerating the situation."  
"But, isn't she teleporting-"  
"Nonsense. There's no way she can do that." The Lady folded her arms. "These self-appointed witch hunters are making up stories to excite the crowds. Same thing with the supposed summoning act – no doubt that was made up as well to reinforce a justification for losing track of the girl."  
Anemlie frowned, and lowered her head.  
"That's another thing that's bothering me, though…" The Lady said, attracting her friend's attention again. "They caught her once, then she got away, but there were apparently witnesses… which leaves two contradictions: one, an Alpha-level psyker was captured by blunts; and two, an Alpha-level psyker left witnesses to her escape."  
The Rhino abruptly swung around and stopped, nearly tossing the three passengers. Anemlie pressed against the partition and peered through. "What the hell was that?" She snapped.  
"There's a mass of people blocking the way," the armsman explained. "No way to get through from here."  
Anemlie looked over at the Lady, who frowned. "Night's falling. We should hurry and start looking before anything happens, and I get the feeling we'll have trouble finding the Merice if it gets later."  
Lamortes opened the hatch and hopped out, stepping aside to allow the Lady and Anemlie to exit as well. Indeed, before them the mob which had first gathered to watch the Inquisition's work had swelled to pack the streets; amidst the mass, a singular voice boomed.  
The Lady anxiously shifted her weight to a single foot, and glanced around before focusing her eyes on the cathedral tower rising up from a block away. "Let's find that Adept." She said, and began to move forward in an impatient stride.  
The crowd parted to allow the Inquisitors access to the front almost instantly; only upon reaching the fore did the Lady discover a man donning a beaked mask: he was an example which emanated the very spirit of the Redemption's extremity, as he permitted an open flame to burn from a brazier fixed to his head; across his red-robed torso were pinned various honorific crosses and aquilae - cheap imitations of medals the Lady was fairly certain minor civilians could never obtain.  
The insanity which the Prefectus Primus spouted was an excessively violent misinterpretation of the Imperial Creed, and each second spent listening to it was agitating the Lady Inquisitor further. D'Narmaine had apparently not yet noticed the group trio at his feet, for he continued to rant and rave even as the Lady stepped up onto his platform, behind which stood a new crucifix - and hanging from the cross was a half-dead young woman.  
The Lady paused when she finally caught a good glimpse at this. She had read the report on the Kamuael Redemption's peculiar practice, and had thought herself steeled for the sight… yet she was finding the sight horribly _wrong._ The revolting works of heretic-cultists and their moral failings were one matter, but for a mass of Imperial citizens to slaughter innocents for the sake of some eccentric doctrine suggested things which transcended her already cynical expectations.  
D'Narmaine's shouting seemed to fall deaf, although the Lady could see his lips continue to move in ignorance of her presence; she felt herself quiver; she balled her fists to a point where her fingernails dug sharply at her skin. She took a step up onto the platform, pushing back Anemlie from joining her. The Lady slowed for a moment, before treading before d'Narmaine, finally gaining his attention – if only for a moment before she uncharacteristically slammed her fist against his face.  
The crowd gasped all at once as the Prefect-turned-Redemptionist fell over, half-charred pieces of tinder spilling from his fiery crown. Immediately, a pair of bulky men on the platform wearing red-dyed executioner's robes stepped up with knives held out, but they backed down as soon as the Lady Inquisitor displayed her rosette. Inquisitor Anemlie watched, stunned by her partner's behavior, as the Lady knelt and lifted Prefect d'Narmaine up by the front of his robes.  
"I want you to leave this place," The Lady told him, speaking with a terrifying undertone of fury. "Leave, now, and do not ever dare come near this district again."  
Before the Prefect could react, a bright white light like a star lit up in the midst of the crowd, knocking away the people who stood near its source and causing a radiating motion that pushed over nearly all of the Redemptionist mass. The pack of people began to panic and thin as the light seemed to be drawn in towards the light source, which gave way to an orb-like shape; the entire area grew unnaturally dark as though that sphere of white were eating the illumination.  
The sphere assumed the obscure shape a colossal human; cries of "Daemon!" came from across the mob as the shape took on color and a defined form. Light returned to the world, thus making it possible to see the full appearance of what had manifested within the moment it stood still:  
The being was tall, clad in power armor painted a rich blue and trimmed in bright gold, with various tatters of ceremonial cloth draped over it; his helmet was crested with a crown of slim horns, and its eyepieces glared out at them with a pale green glow; in one hand he held a massive sword whose silver blade swelled and bubbled and roiled as though a liquid. The obscene icon which marked one of the Sorcerer's pauldrons was sending those who observed it into convulsions – and the sparks which came off his torso were sufficiently intimidating for those spared the image of Tzeentch.  
The whole planet seemed to hold still while the Sorcerer slowly turned his head to look over the place in which he had materialized, as though waiting for wisps of white smoke rising from the edges of his armor to recede. Then, quite suddenly, the Sorcerer lifted up a gauntlet and blasted an arc of electricity in one direction, blasting a path out of the charred remains of his victims; he swung the sword to cut away anyone else that stood in his way, leaving entire bodies halved bodies splayed across the pavement. Two Redemptionists of particularly insane zeal charged the Sorcerer from behind with chainsaws, their screams of praise to the Emperor deafened by the terrified shrieks of the cowed and dismembered, only to be cut down when he swiftly spun around with his sword held out.  
The remainder of the mob was now scattering, pushing out in all directions to get away from the monstrosity. Inquisitor Anemlie pulled Lamortes up out of the mass before he could be swept away, helping him up onto the platform; the two Redemptionists standing as d'Narmaine's honor guard promptly ran, pushing Anemlie off again.  
The Lady watched the Sorcerer over the struggling masses as he strolled off, seemingly confident that he would be unopposed.  
Anemlie also watched as the giant disappeared down a street, and then realized where that turn went. "He must be heading for the cathedral!" She called over the crowd, tugging at the Lady's sleeve. "That must be where Merice is hiding!" She glanced back at where the Sorcerer had gone. "That is definitely our summoned daemon!"  
The Lady said something impossible to hear.  
"What?" Anemlie shouted.  
"There's something wrong!" The Lady Inquisitor repeated. "That Traitor Astartes is going quite some distance! He could have teleported closer to the building if he detected the full extent of Merice's powers there!" She looked out at the fleeing crowd again: the numbers had sufficiently diffused that the way back to the Rhino was traversable. "Let's give him a little time to walk and cut him off, I don't want to take him on unless it's in close quarters!"  
The three passed through the field of gore and corpses as they rushed back to the APC, which was flanked on both sides by running citizens. "What if he gets there first and teleports away with Merice?" Lamortes asked, opening up the Rhino's side hatch.  
"I don't think he'll find her," The Lady answered, hopping in. "He's having trouble tracking her as it is, he only managed to find out she was in the chapel by coming here directly, because she's not an Alpha-level."  
Anemlie stopped halfway through the hatch and started at her partner. "What?" She snapped, and quickly recalled the lack of time and got in to give Lamortes access.  
"Not a doubt about it," the Lady told her as the Magos shut the Rhino and shifted over to the partition, "the Redemption managed to catch her and subdue her, because she doesn't know how to properly use her powers; she hasn't killed anyone herself as far as we can tell, and that Marine shows up much farther from her than he thought. Odds are, that Marine appeared in the midst of the first capture, started killing people, and disappeared when he found his quarry had escaped in the chaos of that fight."  
Lamortes ordered the driver force through to the church building, then turned back. "One last thing, my Lady," he began, returning to his seat before the Rhino lurched into motion, "what if he's not going for the cathedral?"  
"He is." The Lady asserted, confidently enough to appease her subordinate.

Anemlie pushed open the main gate and drew her power sword while the Lady came in close behind with Lamortes in-tow; within, the Sorcerer was marching down the central isle, ripping through the pews which cramped his movement space. "In the name of the Inquisition, halt!" Anemlie shouted, unsure of just what effect her voice would have.  
Curiously, the Sorcerer paused, and slowly turned, sword raised to maim. After a moment, the Astartes noticed the stylized "I" hanging from Anemlie's neck; he lowered his weapon and stood straight.  
A low buzzing like a swarm of flies filled the chamber as the Sorcerer's vox activated. "I am honored to be challenged by ones such as you," he growled to the two Inquisitors, bowing as far forward as the plates of his ancient armor allowed. "I am Cabalist Ahtosahk Anhur, exile of the Thousand Sons. I have come for the psyker-child, and while you flatter me with your presence, I do not wish to fight you, so I request you stand aside while I do as I have come to do."  
Foregoing a response to this, Anemlie took a step forward, then another, brushing off the Lady's grip as she attempted to caution her.  
"Minna, wait!"  
Inquisitor Anemlie ignored this, hefting her power sword's two-handed blade with an elegance unprecedented from a woman approaching death itself.  
"If you insist," Anhur deadpanned, and stood still as Anemlie charged him. His first action was to parry a horizontal swing from the Inquisitor, and next he granted her the time to make a second cut, only to knock it back with the blunt side of his warp-weapon.  
Immediately, the Lady regretted having only armed herself with her dagger-sized power blade and a petty las pistol. "Max!" The Lady howled back to her partner while she pulled out her pistol. "Do something! Quickly!"  
The Magos brandished his own las pistol, and the two began to fire at Anhur; for a few seconds the shots distracted the Sorcerer enough to allow Anemlie to cut into the plating over his chest. Furious, Anhur held out his hand in a psychic assault, knocking Anemlie back into a pew and deflecting the incoming gunfire. Seeing this, the Lady stopped firing and fumbled to take off her ring…  
Just as Anhur took a long step forward and stabbed the rippling point of his weapon through the prone Anemlie's back.  
The Lady froze – her gun clattered against the floor – her hands stayed locked together, fingers attempting to turn the mechanisms of her inhibitor. The whole world truly froze for her in that moment: she had failed – she had panicked – she had hesitated, at the cost of yet another who had trusted her.  
Anhur turned towards them, prompting Lamortes to move against him before he singled out the immobilized Lady. The Magos misjudged his distance and the length of the warp-sword, and promptly paid for it: Anhur swiped the flowing blade in an arc which cut him in two at his waist. The Lady was ignorant of this, still staring at the crumpled form of her partner in the pile of splinters.  
"My Lady!" Lamortes shouted, controlling the spasms of his upper body as several motors within his body whirred at unintended torques, and the bearings of his lower spinal column twisted and writhed in want of the rest of their connections. Anhur kicked aside the Magos's upper body, quieting him for the moment, and stepped forward.  
The Lady snapped out of her trance, and saw the Sorcerer coming at her. Her confused expression lingered for a moment, until her face contorted into a rare look of rage. She tore her inhibitor-ring from her finger.  
Immediately, Cabalist Anhur stumbled back as if he had been pushed away – he instinctively reached for the fore of his helmet, groaning, his breath growing labored. He dropped his sword and collapsed to a knee, keeping himself supported by his knuckle. The Lady began to close the distance between them, each complete, trembling step bringing a renewed wave of pain over the Sorcerer, and each causing his warp-weapon's blade to bubble and sputter at an increasing rate.  
The Lady walked by him entirely, letting Anhur fall over at their closest proximity; she stopped before the broken body of Ordo Malleus Inquisitor Minna Anemlie. The Lady looked down at the inactive blade of her power sword, and took it up.  
The Lady's lessons had involved little in the way of wielding two-handed blades, not that it mattered much. She reminisced for a moment in the sword's previous owner, quietly mourning to herself, before turning again to the debilitated Sorcerer.  
She let the sword hum to life in her hand, and slowly approached Anhur again. She raised the power sword over her head, and then dropped it down against Anhur's head, cleanly decapitating him; she swiftly brought the sword up half-way and then chopped into his armor, again, and again, each blow lopping off another limb or slice chunk of him - his body may not have been dust within, but as Anhur's warp-saturated form leaked from its shell, it degraded into ember-like ash with a green luminescence, a mystical property which quickly faded.  
The Lady Inquisitor dropped the sword then. She stood over the armored hulk, staring down at the empty armor for what she thought must have been several minutes before she tiredly staggered over to where her dropped ring lay – she picked it up, and put it back on her hand.  
A light whimper caught her ear, causing her to nearly jump: she turned, and spotted, half-concealed by one of the pillars upon the altar, a little girl, staring over at her with eyes like wide as saucers. The child stumbled away, running off down to the side, and the Lady gave chase.  
The girl's path went down a spiraling stairwell; halfway down, the Lady disabled her inhibitor field, resulting in a shrill scream from below, followed by a series of sobs. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, the first level of the cathedral catacombs, the Lady found the girl, curled up on the stone floor, clutching her head. The Lady reactivated the inhibitor to test her uncertainty about Merice d'Alia's powers – sure enough, none of the gargoyles broke themselves free to bludgeon her.  
Merice d'Alia was no Alpha-level psyker – she was psychic, certainly, but at most her Assignment rating could only be Theta, the Lady guessed. Suddenly, it dawned on the Lady Inquisitor just what planet she was on: the Prefect, recognizing he would be held responsible for the first recorded detection of a mutant on Kamuael, had exaggerated the severity of Merice's abilities out of either fevered confusion, or a twisted desire to make the situation worse than it had been; she reasoned that the Pontifex had recognized the potential this had of spreading the Redemption across the planet, and so pushed him towards the decision to lie. Those two men had been responsible for the deaths of thousands, maybe millions – and had obliterated a little girl's family.  
Merice shivered and whimpered, trying to get up again as soon as the pain subsided to run; the Lady lunged at her, grabbing her by her arms and pulling her back so as to minimize her squirming; quickly, the girl began to cry. She was filthy: dirt and grime covered her clothes and face, and there were blood splatters on portions of her ruined dress – the Lady recalled the first 'summoning' of Anhur.  
As Merice's struggle became more intense, the Lady kneeled and attempted to calm her down. "Merice," she gently cooed, "it's okay. It's okay…"  
The Lady gently put a hand against the little girl's head. "It's okay…"  
The child began to calm down, and collapsed into the Lady's lap, taking heavy, strained breaths.  
The Lady considered her options: Merice was not a powerful psyker, and therefore had little potential as an acolyte – besides, the Lady could only scoff at the idea of raising her. If left on Kamuael, then she would be tortured and traumatized by the population before either being killed then and there or delivered to the Black Ships - and in the latter case she would suffer for an extended period of time before her body was ruined at the Astronomicon; there was also the chance that, leaving her there, Anhur's associates might make the mistake of being lured by the "Alpha Psyker" and come to claim her as well, and the course of that scenario made the Lady just as ill.  
Merice slipped around, and rested her head against the Lady's bosom, wrapping her small arms around this adult's back; the Lady put her arms around the little girl, letting one hand rest upon her head. The Lady gazed down at the handle of her power blade, resting at her side and partially obscured by Merice's shoulder. Her gut wrenched into a painful knot.  
The Lady Inquisitor ran a quivering hand through Merice's dirt-clumped red hair, and began to cry.

When the Lady resurfaced in the cathedral interior, she found Lamortes, crawling about on his arms, regathering his legs.  
The Magos saw her, and propped himself up on an undamaged pew. "My Lady." He said, as though nothing were wrong. "It's nothing severe, only a flesh wound, I can repair myself in no time-" His humor subsided when he saw the stiff way in which the Inquisitor walked towards him.  
The Lady did not look at him – instead, she stared off at the floor with hooded eyes. "It's over Max." She announced softly.  
"Then, your suspicions were…"  
The Lady lifted her head, and looked over at the stained glass at the far end of the altar: it was a typical depiction of the Emperor piercing a terrible beast with a lance. "I'm dead inside now."  
She sat down on the row after Lamortes, and was quiet for a few minutes. As she began to speak again, she heaved. "No more crying," she looked over at her old friend, and made a tired attempt at a fake smile. "Let's get you out of here." She said, standing up. She took Lamorte's lower body by one foot and dragged its heavy mass down the aisle, towards the doors.

Thus, the Lady Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus ended the Kamuael crisis.


End file.
